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Monday, April 28, 2014

Jocelyn Adams' STONE COLD Guest Post and Tour

Authors Bio:

Jocelyn is an office grunt by day and creator of romance and adventure by night. Born a farmer’s daughter with a vivid imagination, she spent her

childhood dreaming up stories that remained untold until 2010.With no formal training, she relied on the honest feedback of her writing group to take her from that first short story all the way to THE END of her first novel. She now has five published novels and has recently signed a 3-book deal with Entangled Publishing.When she isn’t slinging words, you can find her shooting her bow or enjoying the serenity of family life in her little house in the woods.

Lou Hudson makes a deal with the Isaac to save the Ironhill jinn from execution…and lands on the front line of a war between the vampire and his sire.Daddy Dearest intends to have Lou for himself to spite Isaac and begins meddling in every corner of her life. Her reputation shatters when people die, her monster-whispering skills shelved by public outcry and vampire politics.When forced to confront their enemy, she isn’t prepared for the depth of Isaac’s plotting—or her increasing attraction to him—and to end their latest crisis will only cost Lou a piece of her soul.

Excerpt:

In the serenity of the Colorado night, without distraction,
I noticed a scent surrounding Isaac I’d either ignored or hadn’t noticed
before. Mineral hints of snow in chilled night air, and beneath it, the dewy
scent of the earth in autumn. It drew up thoughts of Mum and the better times
we’d spent together. My mind quieted further.

“Are you afraid?” Isaac asked, once again the guarded, regal
lord. “Your terror should be painting the wind in shades of bitterness, but I
scent nothing but your vanilla-tinged contentment.”

I thought for a moment before answering, watching a hawk
sail across the last splashes of pink. “No, I don’t think I am. Is it strange
that I find comfort in the scent of my executioner? That it plunges me into my
most pleasant memories during my life?” I smiled. “I’ve never believed in God,
but perhaps he exists after all and has granted me this small mercy at the end
of all things.”

A rustle of fabric came to my ears as he shifted closer.
“What do I smell like?”

Encouraged by his interest, I rolled his scent on my tongue,
through the halls of my memory. “Frost-coated leaves on the forest floor in
autumn when the earth is damp yet not frozen, and the wind has that first crisp
hint of winter.” I’d always wondered why prisons would send a priest to the
condemned, seeing no point in confessing anything, but I had a sudden understanding
of how unburdening just having someone to listen could be.

I decided to share the memory. “Mum forbade me from using my
abilities when I was young and we lived in England. Never let them see your
strangeness, Lou-Lou Bean, she’d say. My jinn magic would build up and become
almost blinding, and the longing was worse than starving. She finally gave in
to my begging and took me up north to a small forest when I was three.”

My smile grew, and I let out a small laugh, remembering.
“The first thing I did when she set me free was to drop to my knees and dig my
fingers into the earth.” I stretched my hand out, almost feeling the cool soil
squish against my palms. “It was late October like it is now. I had to shove
away the leaves, inhaling the earthy scent of my element. The instant the rock
called out to me and I could actually connect with it was like I’d been
breathing with one lung all my life and could suddenly take in a full breath.”

I tried to shake off Mum’s reaction to it all back then, but
it wouldn’t leave me, sucking the remembered joy out of me. “Mum always turned
her back while I changed to stone. She didn’t like to see my strangeness, as if
it would somehow drive the hurt deeper, that my father had cursed her with a
condemned abomination for a daughter. She lived her entire life looking over
her shoulder because of me.”

A tug came on my braid. I imagined Isaac running his fingers
along the length of it, and that, too, was a strange sort of comfort coming
from the last source I expected it from. I’m here, I heard in the act. I’m
listening.

Original Cyn

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